The Reviews Flow In:

The fun-est and sanest place on the internet!

"AROOO: A blog where women are not called bitches, any form of cunt, or contaminated." ---TFKG

“AROOO: A blog far too principled to be popular.” ---Anonymous

“AROOO, too sexy for AROOO!”---The judges of, "What is sexy."

“Ye miserable, crawling worms, are ye here again, then? Have ye come like Nimshi, son Rehoboam, secretly out of yer doomed houses to hear what’s comin’ to ye? Have ye come, old and young, sick and well, matrons and virgins (if there is any virgins among ye, which is not likely, the world bein’ in the wicked state it is), old men and young lads, to hear me tellin’ o’ the great crimson lickin’ flames o’ hell fire?
Aye, ye’ve come,
Dozens of ye. Hundreds of ye. Like rats to a granary. Like field-mice when there’s harvest home. And what good will it do ye?
Ye’re all damned!
Damned!
Oh, do ye ever stop to think what that word means when ye use it every day, so lightly, o’ yer wicked lives? No. Ye doan’t. Ye never stop to think what anything means, do ye? Well, I’ll tell ye. It means endless horrifyin’ torment, with yer poor sinful bodies stretched out on hot gridirons in the nethermost fiery pit of hell, and demons mockin’ ye while they waves cooling jellies in front of ye, and binds ye down tighter on yer dreadful bed. Aye, an’ the air’ll be full of the stench of burnt flesh and the screams of your nearest and dearest...
Ye know, doan't ye, what it feels like when ye burn yer hand in takin’ a cake out of the oven or wi’ a match when ye’re lightin’ one of they godless cigarettes? Aye. It stings wi’ a fearful pain, doan’t it? And ye run away to clap a bit o’ butter on it to take the pain away. Ah, but’"
(an impressive pause)
"there’ll be no butter in hell! Yer whoal body will be burnin’ and stingin’ wi’ that unbearable pain, and yer blackened tongues will be stickin’ out of yer mouth, and yer cracked lips will try to scream out for a drop of water, but no sound woan’t come because yer throat is drier nor the sandy desert and yer eyes will be beatin’ like great red-hot balls against yer shrivelled eyelids....” ---Amos Starkadder, Cold Comfort Farm.

"Any time something is written against me, I not only share the sentiment but feel I could do the job far better myself. Perhaps I should advise would-be enemies to send me their grievances beforehand, with full assurance that they will receive my every aid and support. I have even secretly longed to write, under a pen name, a merciless tirade against myself."--- Jorge Luis Borges, (autobiographical essay, 1970).